


but we're not, like, in love

by eidilechsi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Denial, Domesticity, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Smut, Sharing a Room, Softness, an attempt at humor, the team is so done with their shit, they're so mad that they're in love with each other, they’re in denial that’s it that’s the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidilechsi/pseuds/eidilechsi
Summary: Neither Kiyoomi nor Atsumu are strangers to casual sex. The reason for that is “a lack of emotional capacity,” as Kiyoomi would say, and Atsumu is “just really horny”. They sometimes meet in the hallways when they pull their victims behind them, heated gazes clashing in the space between them.That they end up sleeping with each other at some point is an inevitability, and so is the rest.Featuring the complications of room assignments, unintentional domesticity and a lot of mutual dumbassery. Also, the bone-deep exasperation of an entire volleyball team.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 42
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

Atsumu pulls away long enough from his kissing partner to declare “I really don’t like you.”

Kiyoomi huffs. “It would surprise me if you did.”

The girl that Atsumu stopped kissing five seconds ago chuckles. “You’re so weird.”

“No, but like, I mean,” Atsumu starts and goes back at it, lands a trail of kisses on the blonde’s neck while moving closer to her, “I don’t get why ya wouldn’t give me the single room just fer tonight.”

“We’ve been over this, Miya, you had it last time,” Kiyoomi responds from the other side of the booth, wholly unfazed. “Don’t act as if we didn’t talk about it back at the hotel. Is that alright, Takeo?” The guy with piercings and a shaved head that Kiyoomi’s giving a neck massage to nods fervently. “That’s good,” he murmurs. His fingers cart through the bristly hair at the nape of his neck.

Atsumu still isn’t done. He pulls off again, a string of spit connecting his lips to the girl’s. The bass of a new song thumps in the background, beats in time with his accelerated heartbeat. He raises his voice so Kiyoomi can hear him over the volume. “Oh c’mon, she lives, like, so far away, it’ll be such a pain to get there and back.”

“No.” When he works out a particularly stubborn kink, Takeo lets out a contented noise between a sigh and a groan. Kiyoomi starts humming quietly to the song playing over the speakers. The top portion of his face that’s visible above his mask is even and pale as ever in the half-dimmed atmosphere of the upholstered booth. His hands wander across muscular shoulders.

“I hate it as much as you do that we hafta sleep in double rooms, but can’t ya just let me have this today?” Atsumu looks downright desperate, shirt rumpled and hair messy, lipstick marks smeared around his mouth and trailing down his neck. The strobing lights of the dance floor occasionally catch on his hair, light it up in green and yellow. He kicks Kiyoomi’s shin under the table. “I gave ya the perfect set for that last cut-shot ya did. I know ya bragged ‘bout it later on TV. An’ I know it’s yer turn ta have the single room tonight, but _please_? I called ya an asshole only, like, seven times this week.” Atsumu dives back into devouring the woman. She giggles and grips the back of his head to pull him closer. Atsumu gladly complies.

“I counted, it was six.” Kiyoomi’s hand trails further. Pale, bony fingers curl around a thick bicep. “It’s still a no.”

Atsumu turns around again and has already opened his mouth when the woman he’s with gets up, swaying a bit on her feet. “I really want to have sex right now,” she announces. “So please stop talking to your teammate?”

Atsumu stands up too and points a finger at him. “Ye’re a dick.”

Kiyoomi sneaks a hand down his acquaintance’s waist and sidles up closer to him. “I’ll text you the bus schedule,” he mumbles and starts peppering close-mouthed kisses to the side of Takeo’s throat.

“Ye’re a _smug_ dick, fuck you, Omi-Omi.” The woman tugs insistently at his arm and Atsumu lets himself get pulled with, shoots one last withering glare over his shoulder. “Have fun in yer stupid one-person-hotel-room, ya dick.”

“You said _dick_ twice!” he calls after him.

“God, he’s finally gone,” Takeo says. “But I guess that’s our cue to leave?” he adds while he turns around and lays a hand on Kiyoomi’s chest.

He freezes.

Kiyoomi reels back, lets out something akin to a hiss. He has his fingers clamped around the offending wrist in an instant, grips it in an iron hold and slams it onto the table with a resounding thunk. “Oh no,” he snaps, “you don’t get to touch me yet.”

Takeo’s eyes grow wide. For a moment, the only sound between them is the loud chatter and singing in the background of the bar. He licks his lips. “Sorry?”

Kiyoomi considers him from half-lidded eyes. “I told you how this was going to go when you came up to me,” voice sharp and cold like an icicle. “We talk, briefly, and you don’t try to get close to me. I bring you back, we both take a thorough shower and then and only then I might allow you to touch me. Notice how we aren’t at that part yet?”

Takeo gulps. His pupils have dilated. “So let’s go.” He adjusts his leather jacket and also his pants. “Your place or mine?”

“I’d like to say yours just to fuck with Miya, but I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.”

“Oh I intend to.”

As Kiyoomi marches out of the bar and Takeo trails after him, the entire team sighs in their periphery. Deeply.

“Right,” Bokuto begins. “I’m in a room with Tsumu, so his bed will stay empty. Inunaki, you’re scheduled to have the single room, but now that Omi-Omi’s gonna be in there, do you want Atsumu’s bed or Kiyoomi’s in Meian’s room?”

Inunaki considers the two shots in his hands. He looks up at Barnes for guidance. “Left or right?”

Barnes shrugs. “Left.”

Inunaki knocks back the left shot. He chases it with the other. He burps. “Meian.”

Hinata stumbles up to them, freshly back from the dance floor, shirt buttons suspiciously ripped-off and two phone numbers scribbled onto his bare chest. “I hope they have fun!” His bright smile could illuminate the entire night sky. “So what’s the verdict?”

“We hate them,” the rest of the team declares in unison.

Neither Kiyoomi nor Atsumu make a secret out of their respective romantic endeavors. Actually, it would not be very fair to call them romantic considering that there isn’t much romance involved. _Whoring around_ would be more accurate, as coach Foster once called it.

And the team would be fine with it, really, totally, freedom of choice and do with your body what you like and “go get it Tsumu!” and all that – they would be fine with it if it wasn’t for the room assignments and the resulting drama.

“Team bonding,” the manager had called it when she first announced that they’d be sharing rooms on away games from now on, “a pain in the ass,” everyone else. There’s usually eleven of them, and only six rooms. Of course, the team could afford to get each of them their own room, but that wouldn’t promote “team spirit” and “conflict solving strategies”, now would it?

“We’re not doing that shit,” literally everyone on the team had said when they first heard about it. And then, the manager said “we know you like to go out after the game, we’ll provide all your food and drinks on these nights for free”.

It does help with team bonding. You bond alright when you have to deal with snoring (from Bokuto), stinky socks (from Hinata), terrible bathroom etiquette (from everyone but Kiyoomi) and similar horrors (Inunaki’s body pillow of Genos from One Punch Man). And you bond _very_ well when you get shit-faced drunk together. Yes, the team bonding aspect is a total success. Improving team spirit? Sure, the rest of the team has started cheering on Atsumu and Kiyoomi lately, hoping they disappear out of the establishment and their line of sight faster.

Unfortunately, most of the “conflict” comes from those two themselves and most of the “solving” involves them hurling insults at each other before aggressively making out with their respective partners. The big “strategy” is to fuck someone silly.

It’s working pretty well.

///

Then, Meian divorces his wife.

He slides into the booth next to Atsumu and Kiyoomi with sweaty palms and a nervous smile. And that would be a fine thing for him to do, normal, totally okay, if just Kiyoomi and Atsumu weren’t … occupied again.

Atsumu leans back from the girl he’s been heatedly making out with to look at Meian.

Kiyoomi currently sits on the other side of the booth with some scrawny guy’s legs thrown over his lap, half-way listening to unfettered complaining about an ex-stepmother.

The two look at each other. Atsumu furrows his brows. Kiyoomi holds up one finger, then two, blinks slowly. Atsumu’s eyes widen. Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. Atsumu lifts both.

“Okay, time to go,” Atsumu says to the indignant woman with vigorously ruffled hair and pats her on the back while she gets up. “I’ll be done here in a sec, would ya mind waitin’ at the bar fer me?”

Kiyoomi’s guy protests when he’s thrown out of the booth. “But I haven’t even gotten some action with you yet!”

Kiyoomi blinks. “I guess you won’t. Don’t be too sad, find someone else. I’ll do the same.”

And Meian sits there, hands clamped together in his lap.

Kiyoomi and Atsumu turn to their captain in sync, lean across the table like hawks that have spotted a rabbit.

“Hello Meian,” Kiyoomi begins. “Sorry about the marriage.”

Atsumu sets an elbow down between two half-empty baskets of fries and props his grinning face on it. “I’m guessin’ ye’re in dire need of some meaningless sex, so ya wanna consult the pros?”

Kiyoomi hits the back of his head. “That’s disgusting, Miya.” Atsumu yelps.

Meian sighs. “It is, but I do need a distraction, and you two certainly seem …” He waves around in the air ambiguously, “…adequately distracted on these nights out. Women, men, doesn’t matter. A man might be better considering … recent developments.”

“Alright, that’s easier,” Atsumu says.

Kiyoomi looks Meian up and down, examines the tight button-up he’s wearing, his slacks that are too formal for this kind of establishment, the uneven smile on his face. “First, you’ll need staggering amounts of self-confidence and an embarrassing lack of dignity.”

“A drink usually helps,” Atsumu adds. “Open the top two buttons of your shirt.”

Kiyoomi promptly frowns. “Oh, ah. Maybe only the first one. Roll up your sleeves.”

“Oh yeah,” Atsumu agrees with a shit-eating grin. “Show ’em these muscles, captain.”

Kiyoomi nods sagely. “See that femboy over there, with the neon crop top and wonky eyeliner? He’s been eyeing that waiter all night, and you look a bit like him, same stature, similar bone structure. You have better hair. Actually, you could … hm.”

“Yeah.” Atsumu reaches out and tousles it a bit so it’s not totally slicked back. “There we go, that’s better. Ya go up to him, give ‘im a compliment, if he seems responsive, you’ll talk about how ya like goin’ to the gym but love pizza, like, _so much_ , some completely braindead shit like that.”

“Don’t mention the divorce, don’t mention the kids, the depression neither.”

“But I don’t particularly like pizza,” Meian protests, shirt unbuttoned, hair mussed, internally somewhere between scared and amazed, “when it comes to Italian food, I’m much more of a risotto kind of guy.”

“I … Meian, I promise ya, he’s not goin’ ta care. He just wants some dick, and ye’re gonna help ‘im with that.”

“Are you two really tag-teaming me into a hook-up right now?”

“I ain’t hearin’ ya complainin’, captain.”

Kiyoomi squints. “It’s important that you clear up your conceptions about what you both expect from the night.”

“Are you a top?”

“Doesn’t matter. My wife pegged me sometimes.” He promptly turns cherry red. “Why did I say that.”

“I promise you, we don’t care,” Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu is in the middle of arranging the collar of his captain’s shirt so it’s falling open a bit wider but also stretches across his considerable pecs. “Ye’re not the flirtin’ type and probably a bit rusty, so just stick to braindead shit. And _fer the love of god_ , take off that ring.” He snatches it off his open palm, scans him up and down again and finally nods. “Well then, go get ‘im, tiger.”

“Wait.” Kiyoomi elbows Atsumu in the side.

“Right.” He reaches out with a hand and lays it on Meian’s wrist. Peers earnestly into his eyes. “One last thing.”

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. “It is crucial that you go home with him if you want to avoid complications. Don’t bring him back to the hotel. It can get ugly.”

“It’s very, very crucial,” Atsumu adds.

Meian wets his lips nervously. “But … you always fight over who gets to go back to the hotel. It’s carnage, it’s ridiculous, and everyone on the team wants to strangle you the whole way through.”

“We are _assholes_ ,” Kiyoomi says, “so we don’t have a problem with telling them to leave.”

“It’s better in yer own room,” Atsumu adds, “You know where ya are, where you’ll be, there’s always someone around, ya can take a shower before an’ after and you don’t hafta worry ‘bout bein’ back before the bus departs in the morning.”

“So why should I do the opposite of that and make my own life harder?”

Atsumu smiles. “Cuz ye’re not an asshole. And leavin’ is easier than gettin’ a fucked out twink out of the room, a drunk one at that.” He pats his hand. “Go have fun.”

“This is just a scheme, you’re scheming,” Meian accuses. “I haven’t worked out the logistics in my head yet, but this is a … a devious maneuver so there’s an extra bed and you don’t have to fight over who gets to go back to the hotel because you both will.”

“True,” Atsumu says.

“But you also want to fuck someone right now,” Kiyoomi adds.

“So go get ‘im, tiger.”

They observe the exchange closely. Grimace as Meian stutters. Take in a sharp breath when his giant hand lands on a skinny shoulder. Whistle as he puts the other on the strip of skin beneath the hem of a pink crop top. Kiyoomi and Atsumu fist-bump when the other guy pulls him up and in for a kiss. “You take the single room, an’ I’ll go tell Hinata that he’s sleepin’ in Meian’s bed tonight.”

Kiyoomi is still watching the pair and winces when the other guy grabs a handful of ass on the way out. His hand is disconcertingly small against the sheer mass of the athlete’s body. “I do hope he has fun.”

Atsumu waves him off. “Ah, I’m sure he will. I’ll fuck off now, that guy with the blue hair over there has been tryin’ ta catch yer eye for the past half hour.”

Kiyoomi hums and tapes a sip of his drink. “Good luck to you too, or whatever.”

Atsumu winks at his as he sidles out of the booth. “Don’t need luck, my good looks have it all sorted.”

“Why do I bother talking to you?” Kiyoomi calls after him, “I hope you get an STD!”

What Atsumu does get is pinned against the wall in the hallway later that night, barely keeping up with his partner’s diligent mouth. He’s already feeling blissfully disheveled, and oh, how nice it’ll feel to fall into that soft and ready bed, no worries or thoughts about Kiyoomi on his mind, none at all, for once he doesn’t have to think about the other man.

Nope, no Omi-Omi in his head, only … Hiroshi? Was that his name? He has nice hands, thick fingers. Atsumu wonders how they’ll feel inside him. He grips his hips a bit tighter and grinds down on the bulge poking his thigh. “We hafta … mmh … move…” he gets out, sounds half muffled by the lips on his.

Another pair stumbles around the corner. Atsumu sees them freeze in his periphery and lazily turns his head. “Oh don’t mind us, we were just–“

It’s Kiyoomi.

“Hi, Omi-kun,” Atsumu mutters and promptly gasps as his companion moves lower and mouths at his collarbones. Oh! Those are teeth. Sharp flickers of pleasure spark deep in his gut. His lids fall shut as he gets lost in the haze.

“Miya.” Kiyoomi is a bit breathless, too.

Atsumu pops open an eye and bites his lip, trying to control his breathing enough to gasp out “So we meet.”

“I wish we didn’t.”

Atsumu shortly loses sight of him when the bulky guy Kiyoomi’s with possessively wraps his arms around him and slots a leg between his thighs. “C’mon baby, let’s go. Can’t wait to have you inside me.” He starts nibbling at his jawline.

Hajime … Hachiro? Haru? in front of Atsumu growls. “And I,” he murmurs, “can’t wait to suck your dick.”

Atsumu’s and Kiyoomi’s gazes meet across the corridor. A spark of wicked acknowledgement passes between them.

Two doors slam shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Atsumu closes the sliding door with a thud. He slumps against it for a moment. Closes his eyes. The chilly night is a relief on his bare skin.

He looks up at a sound from somewhere two balconies away.

The light inside the room illuminates Kiyoomi from the side, casts an eerie yellow hue behind his back, makes him look like an apparition, face pale, hair mussed, the edges of his white bathrobe glowing. A sleazy grin spreads on Atsumu’s face as he gestures at the pattern of purple-red bruises on his chest that’s mirrored on Kiyoomi’s. “Look, we match!”

Kiyoomi sighs. He burrows himself deeper into his bathrobe when a gust of wind makes them both shiver. “I’m going back inside.”

Atsumu straightens. “No, wait! Keep me company for a bit.”

“I was under the impression you had company.”

“Very stupid company. He asked me two whole times how we manage to score points in volleyball when there aren’t any hoops to throw the ball through.”

“Mine broke down crying over his ex halfway through.”

“Fun.”

They stand there for a moment, take in the cool silence of the darkness in front of them. Their balconies overlook a small garden, barren and empty now in November, a gust of wind rustles withered leaves. They can barely make out the rough shapes of overgrown hedges.

Atsumu casts a quick glance to the side. “It’s cold standin’ out here only in sweatpants, but yer heart’s colder.”

“Shut up, Miya,” Kiyoomi says. In the distance, a siren sounds. “That one was really bad,” he adds after a moment. “Even for you.”

Atsumu immediately sighs. “I know!” he whines, “Ya caught me in a bad moment, but it was already embarrassin’, so I didn’t wanna add even another–“ He startles when someone steps onto the balcony behind him.

“Done with your cigarette, babe?” Two warm arms wrap around his torso. Atsumu squirms a bit in the hold, the hands are sweaty on his bare chest. “Yeah. Go back inside, aren’t ya tired?”

Hiroyuki plants a wet kiss to the skin beneath his ear. The door slides shut behind him.

Kiyoomi pulls the bathrobe tighter around himself and settles down on the plastic chair in the corner of his balcony, throws his feet over the railing. His pink slippers hang off his toes. In these very early hours of the morning, his silhouette is striking. “You’re a bit of an asshole.”

“Don’t sit there and act as if ya weren’t one too.”

“Do you think you’ll ever fall in love?”

Atsumu looks up.

Kiyoomi’s voice is too quiet. No mask hides the downward curl of his lip, and the darkness not the gloomy sheen in his eyes. Kiyoomi raises his chin, suddenly defiant, and the faint light from inside catches on the edge of his face.

“That’s a very personal question, I don’t know if I should answer it.” Atsumu pauses. “No.”

“No, you won’t answer the question or no, you won’t fall in love?”

“Fall in love, obviously. I hope I will, but … I dunno. Crushin’ on someone, becoming infatuated, whatever ya call it, I do that all too easily, I’ve been through it too many times to say the opposite. But love? I don’t know who’d put up with me, no one ever has.” He scratches his neck. “Why are we talkin’ about this?”

“I need to feel better about myself.”

“Oh wow, ya really are a dick. No wonder no one loves you either.”

Kiyoomi turns to look at him, rakes his face with deep dark eyes. Atsumu crosses his arms over his bare chest and the marks on it. Watches back.

“You don’t smoke,” Kiyoomi remarks.

Atsumu tips his hip against the railing and turns his eyes up to the stars; they’re barely visible here in the city, brightness shrouded by too much light. The metal cuts cold into the fabric of his sweatpants. “I usually pretend I do so I can go outside for a bit, I need somethin’ ta clear my head after. I would just smoke, but one, it’s disgustin’ and two, I’m an athlete.”

“What if they’re a smoker and ask for a cigarette, too?”

Atsumu winks. “By that point, I’ve usually explored their mouth enough to know if they are.”

“Ew.”

“Says you who looks like a lion mauled you.”

Kiyoomi furrows his brows in thought and trails a finger over the scratches on his shoulders and collarbones; it slips under the edge of the robe and stills there. “I do think there were some underlying, unresolved frustrations about his ex going on. I recommended a therapist to him.”

“Of course ya did.” Atsumu chuckles.

It’s a familiar sound to Kiyoomi by now, so distinctly _Atsumu_ that something inside him recoils from it. He feels the need to rip the impact of it from his memory. “If you tell anyone that this conversation ever happened, I will climb onto your balcony and throw you off of it.”

Atsumu laughs. “Sure, ya can try. But, uh, yeah, I was kinda countin’ on it that yer emotionally repressed ass wasn’t gonna run to the team ta announce my inner problems either.”

“Good.”

“Good. Hey, who’s gonna find Meian company next time?”

“We could make a bet so the loser has to do it,” Kiyoomi says. “Whoever manages to jump from the balcony first wins. Off you go.”

“I ain’t jumpin’.”

“I’m not either.”

Atsumu turns to Kiyoomi and offers him a wry grin. “Guess it’ll be another tag-team match, then?”

Kiyoomi sighs, turns around and slides the door shut behind him.

///

They meet on their respective balconies again. This time, their rooms are right next to each other – if Kiyoomi wanted to, he could take a step to the left, stretch a hand out and touch the cotton of a faded t-shirt. His pink slippers squeak on the floor as he turns to look at the wall of the residential building in front of them instead.

“Miya.”

“Omi-Omi.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll stop, then, Omi-kun.”

“Your girl dragged mud into the corridor.”

Atsumu raises his eyebrows. “Well yer guy kept distractin’ us with his screams of ‘Daddy, daddy, more!’”

Kiyoomi has to forcibly restrain himself not to gag. Or commit a felony. He’s searching for words that could possibly convey his bone-deep disgust. “Yeah,” he finally settles on, both meek and incredibly grim at the same time. “Don’t!” he hisses when Atsumu’s gleeful smile grows wider.

“Aw, don’t worry, it’d be more embarrassing if you were actually into that shit.” He pauses. “Are ya?”

Kiyoomi buries his face in his hands. “God, I wanted him to leave so bad.”

“There, there. I’d pat yer head it ya weren’t three meters away.” Atsumu snorts. “If it consoles ya, mine asked ta sniff my feet and lick ‘em. So.”

“And?”

Atsumu squirms. “And what?”

“And did you let her do it?”

Atsumu regrets ever having started this conversation. Regrets stepping out onto the balcony, in fact. Joining the Jackals. He blinks. “…Yes.”

“Don’t tell me you’re into feet.”

“I’m not!” he groans. “The last hour made that clear enough. She started nibblin’ on my toes and it was … ya know those nature documentaries that are on at like, midnight, where they just film wildlife doing weird shit and while ye’re watchin’ it ya feel weirdly detached but also really intrigued? Yeah.”

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. “So no feet, then. What else are you into?”

“Did you really just ask me about my turn-ons?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes grow wide at his indignant tone. “Sorry, was that too–“

Atsumu doubles over in laughter. Kiyoomi looks on with mild disinterest while he huffs and puffs, hands slung around himself, trying to stop his unrestrained cackling. “Oh, that’s gold,” he gets out and wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “Yer … yer fine, Omi-Omi. I just never thought I’d talk to _you_ , of all people, about my sexy times,” he says. “Anyways, a bit of talk always gets me going, I like takin’ it from behind, and choking is a lot of fun. The whole giving-up-power thing is really hot, just not _that_ hot when it’s to a stranger that ya don’t know, so I haven’t done that shit in a while. I like it when they play with my nipples and I think I have a praise kink.” He taps his chin. “Hands, hands are very important. I like big boobs and big dicks. I’ll kill you if you ever repeat this to anyone else, by the way.”

“Huh.”

“What about you?”

“Did you really just ask me about my kinks, Miya?”

“I told ya mine.”

“Yes, _all of them_. Completely unprompted, I might add.”

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“I do like fingering and getting fingered, I get your fascination with hands. Thighs can be very alluring, and shoulders, for some reason. Doggy doesn’t do it for me, I prefer missionary. Looking them in the eyes or whatever.”

“Who would’ve thought. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a vanilla bitch.”

Kiyoomi leans onto his forearms and casts him a glance that makes his hair stand up. “Oh no,” he says, “I haven’t told you the rest yet.”

Atsumu laughs, brightly. “Do ya wanna? Tell me, I mean.”

“I would, but knowing you, you’ll just get hard again, you absolute horndog.”

Atsumu flashes a grin. “It’s fine, I think she’s waitin’ fer round two in there anyways.”

“She did look very enthusiastic,” Kiyoomi remarks. “They usually do. From what I’ve seen, what you seek in a woman is mostly desperation. And short hair. Either that or a muscly blond guy who for some reason looks exactly like you.”

“Stop observin’ my hook-ups, ya creep. You don’t see me givin’ ya shit fer yer burly biker dudes and vegan twinks.”

“How do you even know my type? I’d like to think I’m always very classy and discreet,” he deadpans.

“We have a habit of runnin’ into each other.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes are hidden in the shadows, but they’re gleaming back there somewhere. “We do, don’t we?”

///

“Hi, Omi-kun.”

“Hello, Miya.”

Their balconies overlook Tokyo, the carpet of connected lights that’s silent from up here. They aren’t out in the open, but the wind nudges stray raindrops towards them, short sweet needle pricks on Atsumu’s bare feet.

“Yer finished early tonight.”

“My guy’s throwing up in the bathroom. Yours?”

“Oh, I just heard the door and came out. That asshole made me give ‘im a handjob and fucked off an hour ago. Had ta jack myself off in the shower.” Atsumu yawns. “I think there was somethin’ weird in those martinis, I’m still feelin’ woozy.”

“I didn’t drink.”

“Ya never do. Why’s that?”

“Don’t feel like it. Don’t want to lower my guard unnecessarily.”

Atsumu hums. “Understandable. I wish ya did, maybe ya’d be less insufferable.”

Kiyoomi stares at him.

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

“Like, philosophically?”

“Like, why are you standing here next to me on this day just to insult me?”

Atsumu yawns again. “I dunno, gives me some sort of sick pleasure?”

“It would give me some sort of sick pleasure to throw you over this rail right now.”

Atsumu flashes a grin. “I didn’t think of this when ya said ya were into some kinky shit.”

“I don’t like you sometimes, Miya.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Ah, only sometimes?”

They’re silent a bit. Listen to the distant sounds of cars passing by. The soft, familiar pitter-patter of rain.

“This is nice, I guess. Talkin’ to somebody. How didn’t we think of this sooner?”

“Nice? You insulted me and I offered to throw you four stories down.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu sighs, “turnin’ captain onto twinks was, like, the best idea ever.”

“It made me suffer through three of these excruciating balcony talks.”

“Yet ye’re still standin’ ‘ere.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t respond.

Atsumu squints. “Why do ya do it? You sometimes sit there, lookin’ at all these people like ya wouldn’t touch ‘em with a ten-foot-pole, but ya still take someone back every single time.”

Kiyoomi opens his mouth, pauses, closes it again. Atsumu’s hair is still damp from the shower, cheeks red. He has his hands clamped around the galvanized iron of the railing, fingers turning numb around the cold metal. He’s blinking slowly, the circles beneath his eyes a pronounced grey in the dim light, yet the spark in those pupils razor-sharp.

Somewhere beneath them, a motion sensor triggers a lamp.

“I’m debilitatingly lonely and have a deep desire for anonymity. This is intimacy without vulnerability.”

“Huh,” Atsumu says, “I think I’m just really horny.”

Kiyoomi snorts. “I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t think you’re just horny. I think you’re vain and dependent on constant validation, and sex is nice and easier than having to form a significant bond with somebody and work for it.”

Atsumu laughs and averts his eyes, kicks lightly against an abandoned flower pot in the corner. “Drag me more, would ya?” He looks up, inhales the freshness of wet air and the smell of petrichor. “I wish I smoked just so I could flick the cigarette over the railing right now and go back inside with a cryptic little smile that’s kind of pained around the edges. Feel like a main character.”

“You can still do the rest.”

He does. He turns with a sweep, throws back a look, and gives Kiyoomi a cryptic little smile. “Lookin’ forward to that fourth excurticating balcony talk.”

///

The fourth excurticating balcony talk doesn’t happen: Their evil masterplan comes crumbling down when Meian decides that meaningless sex “isn’t enough”, that he needs “a human connection” and that “god, it’s so exhausting, how do you do it?”

“Okay, so,” Atsumu starts, pointer in hand, motioning towards Kiyoomi who’s holding the chalk. “Omi-Omi, please.”

“Team, you all know of our respective ventures and also our logistics problem. Lately, captain has been very considerate by freeing up an extra room to accommodate us…” – “Not my original intention.” – “…but we’ve run into a problem once again.”

Atsumu shoves him aside. “C’mon, this ain’t a presentation in school, why are ya talkin’ like that. Three things. Omi and I wanna fuck, Meian doesn’t, and coach is still denying our requests for single rooming. So, how are we doin’ this?”

His voice echoes in the equipment room. It’s met by nine facial expressions that range from dully resigned to dangerously enraged. Meian takes a swig from his water bottle and sighs deeply, nudges Bokuto’s thigh pressing into his side so he can sprawl himself out on the floor more comfortably.

“We’ve devised a plan.” Kiyoomi begins by drawing a row of rectangles onto the chalkboard. “Miya, start handing out the leaflets, you can look at all your names on the list.”

Atsumu jumps up and grabs the stack of paper.

“We’d like to rotate you around. Just as before, coach obviously can’t know what’s going on because he would, how did you call it, Miya, _rip us a new one_ , but that’s fine, we’ll make do. As you all know, there’s eleven of us on our away games and six rooms to be occupied. One of these will be, of course, a single room. In the past, either one of us two took this single room each week, and the other had to camp out in a stranger’s house. Now that Meian did that for us, we were suddenly blessed with three potential beds, one in the single room, and one each in a double room. Of course, we made the two people who were the other occupants of those rooms go into the same one so that there was one additional double room completely free, and we would–”

“Why are we doing this again?” Adriah calls over.

Kiyoomi disgruntedly shuts his mouth.

Atsumu rolls his eyes and throws a handout into Hinata’s lap who instantly grabs it to read with big eyes. “Because the _problem_ is, ya see,” he drawls, “that we got kind of spoiled? That it’s nice that the two of us don’t hafta fight fer half an hour when we can spend that valuable time stickin’ our tongues down someone else’s throat?”

Kiyoomi grimaces next to him.

“But it doesn’t hafta go back to how things w–“

“No, literally, why are we doing this?” Barnes interrupts him. “We don’t care if you get your dicks wet.”

The two blink at him. Silence joins the smell of stale sweat that hangs in the air. The overhead fluorescent lights buzz.

“Why don’t we,” Inunaki starts, and adjusts his seat on the mat he’s sitting on, “why don’t we just put you two together in a room from now on. Sort your shit out on your own.”

“No,” comes from both of them at the same time. “I ain’t dealin’ with him.” “I concur.” “Con- what? Can ya talk like a normal person?”

Hinata jumps up and inhales deeply. “I know we agreed at the start that either one of you would always get the single room because you convinced coach to bankroll our nights out in the first place, but this is going too far!”

Bokuto nods fervently and goes to stand as well. “I love you, but we’re not some … chess pieces you can move at your will, you know?”

“Ooh, would I be the king, then?”

Kiyoomi hits him on the back of the head. “That’s the worst piece, of course you are. Wait, what?”

Meian stands up, effectively resolving the meeting. “You two are put in a room from now on. No shifting us around, no fights that concern any of us, you haggle with each other and that’s it.”

“But I’ll kill him,” Kiyoomi protests while the rest of the team is already filing out of the room. “Have you _seen_ his locker?”

Atsumu swivels around. “Not if I kill ya first!”

Meian claps his hands together. “Looks like this will be going great. Back to training, everybody!”

///

The first time they’re rooming together is a disaster, naturally.

“Why the fuck is there hair and blue shit all over the shower? Did a smurf kill himself in here?”

Atsumu rolls his eyes and sighs internally. Then out loud. “’s just my toner, chill out.”

Kiyoomi comes stalking out of the bathroom. Atsumu burrows himself further into the sheets and hides his face behind his phone. “And what do you have to say about the hair? Is it that hard to wipe down the shower after you were in it?”

“Ye’re such a drama queen, Omi, do it yerself if it bothers ya that much!”

“No I fucking won’t, cause it’s your disgusting hair and your responsibility!”

“I just forgot, gimme a damn break!”

“You come in here right this moment and clean up after yourself, you slob.”

Atsumu jerks up and throws his phone to the side. “Who do ya call a slob? I didn’t ask to be put in a room with a control freak like you!”

Their argument continues all the way down the stairs and into the bar. “Ye’re not using the room, I had to camp out last time we did this!”

“You ruined my night with your _hair_ ,” Kiyoomi hisses. “Think of it as repayment,” he yells as he stalks away. “Don’t you dare come near that room tonight.”

Atsumu bristles with anger. “Ya know what I’ll do, I’ll find someone and suck their face, and go back to the room which belongs to _me_ tonight, cause ye’re–“ He breaks off when he notices that Kiyoomi can’t hear him anymore, he’s already talking to some guy at the edge of the dancefloor.

Atsumu kicks the table and promptly yowls.

He’s still mad by the time he pulls the tall girl with curly black hair and a bitchface out of the elevator and after him. Sucking her face had helped only marginally, his blood is still boiling, his mood still in the cellar, but he’s horny now … which … actually doesn’t make things much better.

“Why are you running so fast?” she calls after him, chuckling. “Are you that desperate?”

God, he wants to hit something. He instead pulls her in for a kiss.

She melts into his arms. They make their way fumbling along the wall, crashing into it occasionally with loud thuds while Atsumu searches through his pockets for the keycard.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles. “I wanna–“

The door slams open. In it, Kiyoomi stands, shirt ruffled, hair mussed, the look on his face absolutely _furious_.

Atsumu’s mouth falls open. “What the fuck are ya doin’ in there?”

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“Oh my god,” the woman mutters. She detaches herself from Atsumu. “Lover’s quarrel?”

“We’re not fucking lovers!” they both snap at her before directing their anger at each other again.

“I hate you so much, oh my god, did’ya really think I’d stay out cause ya couldn’t handle a bit of _toner_? Are you the yellow tint in my hair?”

“God, your jokes haven’t gotten any better. I can’t–“

A tall blonde guy slides out of the room from behind Kiyoomi, pulling on his jacket at the same time. “Sorry,” he says, and smiles sheepishly. “I didn’t want to get in the way of anything.”

“You’re not!” they both yell at him.

He flinches, shoots the woman a helpless look. She just shrugs. The four stare at each other.

“Well.” The woman clears her throat. “I’ll be going, I think?”

The other guy grimaces. “Me too? Bye, hope it works out for you.”

Atsumu and Kiyoomi watch them walk down the hallway. The man says something about her shoes, and she flicks her hair back. They fall into easy banter. She laughs as she presses the button for the elevator. Right before the doors close, they see him pulling her in for a kiss.

“Right.” Atsumu stomps into the room. “Lucky fer them, I guess.” He aims a finger in Kiyoomi’s direction. “I hate you, just so that’s clear.” Atsumu stops in front of the mini fridge. He rips it open. “Oh my god, _why_ isn’t there any alcohol in here?”

“You’re a nightmare, you’re a literal nightmare.”

“I’m mostly still fucking _hard_!” Atsumu accuses and points at his situation down there. His eyes grow wide as they latch onto Kiyoomi. “And so are you!”

Kiyoomi rakes fingers through his damp tousled hair and whirls around. “And whose fault is that? I _told_ you I’d be taking the room tonight!”

“So did I! It was my actual turn, ya idiot! And now I’m horny and alone, well, not alone, but–“ He abruptly cuts himself off.

“No,” Kiyoomi says, eyes growing wide at the sudden silence, taking a step back. He almost stumbles over a crease in the carpet, and at the last moment, he braces himself against the closet, his hands thump painfully against wood. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s a no.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow, more indignant than anything else, sidles up to him while pulling at his too tight collar. “C’mon, that wasn’t an offer, just an observation. And certainly no reason ta act this shocked. We’re both objectively attractive, ‘specially me, don’t pretend like ya wouldn’t consider–“

“No.”

His mouth drops open. “What do you mean, _no_?” he squawks. “I’m hot, _as if_ ya wouldn’t hit that. Ye’re lyin’ to yerself, Omi, that’s what ye’re doin’!”

“I’m not. You just have an insanely overblown ego.”

Atsumu surges forward and points a finger at him. “I’m not a fuckin’ liar like you, so I’ll just say it, yeah, you’re pretty, I can admit it! Yer new gym shorts, by the way? Very unfair, ya can’t even fault a man fer starin’, is what I’m sayin’. But also, I had a point?” He snaps his fingers. “Right. This sexy piece of ass standin’ in front of ya was voted the hottest member of the V-League two years in a row. So don’t lie.”

Kiyoomi grits his teeth. He raises his chin to look down at Atsumu, pushes a hand against him to shove him away. Atsumu resists, crowds closer into his space until they almost touch. Kiyoomi’s fingers falter between their torsos, dwell, tingling on firm muscle. “Hottest member of the V-League? Also biggest ego in the entire world, voted by me.”

“Just cause ya don’t feel any emotions besides annoyance!” He grips him by the already crumpled shirt, yanks him close. “I don’t like you, Omi-kun,” he hisses in his ear, words curling around his tongue, sharp and pronounced. His hands are shaking. “I really don’t.”

Kiyoomi wets his lips. Atsumu smells of expensive aftershave and alcohol. The pearly white skin of his neck is marred by lipstick stains. Kiyoomi’s eyes follow their trail up to those lips, those red-bitten lips. “Great, I don’t like you either.” God, he hopes he’s imagining the tremble in his own voice. His chest rises and falls against Atsumu’s, heavy and heady. His hand is still trapped between them. “I don’t know how you’d … how you’d even … _think_ I might consider sleeping with you!”

Atsumu angles his head. Their breaths collide. Black bores into brown. He curls his lip. Grips his shirt tighter. “Don’t even try to tell me ya’ve never thought about it, ya bastard.”

In response, Kiyoomi crushes his lips against Atsumu’s.

The kiss is demanding, hot and unrelenting, and Atsumu gives into it groaning. His hands come up involuntarily, bury themselves in those stubborn curls while he deepens the kiss. Kiyoomi’s fingers are already on him, he doesn’t know how they got there. When he releases a choked moan, the grip on his shoulder blades tightens, manicured nails digging into firm muscle. Kiyoomi’s lips are a bit chapped. Atsumu bites down on them.

Kiyoomi jerks back, bangs his head against the wall. “What the fuck?” he yells.

“I could ask the same thing!” Atsumu snaps as he stumbles back, desperately trying to find his footing on the ground. He almost stumbles over the fold in the carpet. Kicks down on it until it lays flat.

Their heaving breaths are unsettlingly loud in the sudden silence of the room. Rattling intakes of air that reveal the pumping heat in their veins. The tension has only increased with the space between them.

They look at each other. Hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, and lips spit-slick. Kiyoomi opens his mouth to say something. Atsumu crashes into him again.

His lips are soft, he didn’t think they’d be soft.

Atsumu lets his head fall back when Kiyoomi trails open-mouthed kisses down his throat, can’t stop the grunt that surges up from deep within him. “I don’t … I don’t like ya, Omi-kun,” he manages to get out, but Kiyoomi is not deterred. Atsumu gasps when a flash of teeth digs into his skin.

Kiyoomi pulls off, lips pink and wet and _obscene_. “The feeling is mutual,” he mumbles right before their lips find each other again.

Atsumu tears them away, grabs a handful of Kiyoomi’s hair and pulls his stubborn head back by the curls, ignores the hiss that follows. “Are we really doin’ this?”

Kiyoomi’s hand falls back to his side with a thump. The other still grips Atsumu by the back of his neck. He considers his disheveled form, the dilated pupils, the flush that has crawled down his neck, the unfettered, consuming desire pouring out from those eyes.

“Omi?” Atsumu grits out.

Kiyoomi sighs in defeat. He releases him from his hold. “Ugh, I guess. Go shower.”

“What?”

“I said, go shower. Who knows where your dirty hands have been.”

“Have I told ya that I don’t like ya?” Atsumu calls as he marches into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he lies flat on his back, the mattress firm beneath, Kiyoomi unyielding above him. Their chests are pressed flush together, hot muscle against hot muscle. Atsumu would like to push back, get up, do _anything_ , but he can’t, doesn’t want to. He drowns in the searing feeling of skin against his.

The sheets are crinkling.

Kiyoomi kisses him, sets a slow torturous pace that makes his head spin, it’s deep, it’s messy, and _not enough_. He pulls off long enough to look him in the eyes. “Look at you, all spread out for me. Not so cocky now, huh?”

Atsumu gasps when Kiyoomi lowers his mouth to nip at his jawline. “This means nothin’, by the way,” he bites out. “I still don’t fuckin’ like ya.”

“Thanks for clarifying,” Kiyoomi remarks, “you’ve only told me about twenty times.”

“That must mean it’s tru– _uuh_.” Kiyoomi is touching his dick. Atsumu bites down on his own lip, hard. Kiyoomi has a hand around his dick. Kiyoomi’s touchin his– he’s moving his hand. Oh, he’s moving it.

It rips a sound from his throat that’s entirely damning.

Kiyoomi takes his time to unravel him. Smooths over his hair, pulls on it lightly while a slick finger travels up his thigh. Atsumu shivers, whimpers, and Kiyoomi just catches the sounds in his mouth. He pauses his ministrations to kiss him again, languidly, torturously. Atsumu’s dick weeps and so does he.

By the time Kiyoomi has two fingers inside him, Atsumu is a garbling mess beneath him.

“You’re doing so good for me,” Kiyoomi murmurs, draws lazy circles on his shoulder with his thumb. “Taking me so well.”

Atsumu shivers and muffles an obscene moan in Kiyoomi’s shoulder, bites down on it. “I fucking … ah, hate you. When I told ya ’bout the praise kink, I didn’t think I’d ever … _hnngh_ … be in this situation with ya. Oh my _god_ , another one.”

Kiyoomi hums. “Another what?” He suckles love bites onto his collarbones.

“Another _fuckin’ finger_ or I’ll do it myself!”

Kiyoomi chuckles. “Are we getting impatient?” he asks as he slides a third in. Atsumu _sobs_ at the stretch. Arches his back when Kiyoomi brushes over that nub that makes fire erupt in his gut, again and again. “I should tie you up and leave you just like this, hot and needy.” His voice drops to a whisper, fingers mercilessly drilling faster, harder, _deeper_. He wraps his other hand around his dick. “Would you beg, Atsumu?”

Atsumu comes with a sob.

His muscles clench and tremble with the climax, mouth open in a silent plea. Kiyoomi watches the pure bliss shining in those glossy eyes. They flutter shut as his muscles go limp.

Kiyoomi laughs.

“Did you … did you just … oh my _god_.” Kiyoomi shakes against him, every ripple of muscle reverberating.

“Shut up!” Atsumu groans and hides his bright red face in Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “This is … I …”

“This is the best day of my life. Miya Atsumu comes from getting fingered. And talked to.” He wriggles his fingers that are still buried deep inside him, and Atsumu whines. “Ow. Stop fer a second, will ya?”

“Alright, alright. _God_.” He grumbles. “Are you fine?”

“Prim and perfect, Omi-kun.”

“I don’t know if you should try to snark me when I’m literally inside you.” Kiyoomi’s arms are trembling from the exertion of holding himself up. He sighs and the weight of his body settles over Atsumu’s. His cheek lands on the sheets, comfortingly cool. His breath tickles an ear. “Can I pull out?”

Atsumu winces when he does. “Ya know, with these balcony talks, I was actually warmin’ up to ya, like wow, I was thinkin’, bondin’ over how shitty we both are!”

“You call springing your turn-ons on me _bonding_?”

Atsumu turns his head. Their noses brush together, flush against a flush. He grins his infuriating little grin. “Eh, I came, didn’t I?”

Kiyoomi stares up into those caramel eyes. “Only time you’ll come first in a competition of ours.”

Atsumu raises his eyebrows. “A _competition_ this is, ya say?” he drawls. “You could’ve–“ His face falls slack. “Goddamnit, if ya’d given me a blowjob instead, I coulda made a joke ‘bout a headstart.”

“I’m right on top of you, hard, and you’re thinking about your stupid jokes?”

“Omi-kun, what the fuck did’ya expect from me?” He sighs. “Also, I’m very aware of how hard ya are, thank you very much, ye’re pokin’ my thigh, but will ya give me a few minutes?”

“What?”

“What?”

They stare at each other.

“You want to fuck me,” Atsumu states.

“Well, yes.” Kiyoomi clears his throat. “But I can’t imagine that it would be very nice for you after you just came.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. He grips him by the shoulders, curls a leg and hoists them around in a swift motion that makes Kiyoomi yelp, sends him slamming into the mattress. Atsumu bends down once he sits heavy on top of him and rests his forearms on Kiyoomi’s pecs. He slowly blinks. “All that talk about yer dirty, dirty fantasies and now ya wanna play nice?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Miya.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes again. “I promise ya, ya won’t.” His hands drag along Kiyoomi's sides. “What would you like to do to me?”

The answer comes instantly. “Shut you up.”

Atsumu hums. “There’s different ways to do that, though, you’ll hafta choose one.”

Kiyoomi looks into the air, squints as he ponders. His eyes light up and he snaps his fingers. “Fuck you into the mattress head-first?”

They’re blissfully tired afterwards, and gross. “Uck,” Kiyoomi lets out.

“So true, bestie. Now get out of the bed.”

Atsumu watches from there as Kiyoomi pulls on his clothes, slowly and deliberate, motions controlled in a way that’s unsettling. He lounges in the sheets, waiting for the mellowness in his head to dissipate. The lamp on the nightstand is a bit too bright next to his head. He closes his eyes, lets the blissful ache of his limbs course through him. “I feel like you should say somethin’.”

“We had sex, what’s there to say? We were both present.” Kiyoomi pulls up his jeans, closes the button. Looks around for his shoes, finds them neatly deposited next to the closet. Shadows dance over his movements as he puts them on.

“Will we tell anyone about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s not like it’ll change anything.” He finishes tying his shoes.

“Glad that we’re on the same front.”

Kiyoomi takes his leather jacket from the chair, throws it over his shoulder, checks that his phone, wallet and keys are in his pockets. He’s already striding towards the door.

“Omi?”

Atsumu shakes with the laughter he’s holding back.

“Yes?” He pauses at the door.

Atsumu looks up to him from half-lidded eyes. “Ya do know that this is yer room too, right? Ye’re sleepin’ in here.”

Kiyoomi freezes, one hand already on the doorknob.

Atsumu is gracious and tells him that he can shower first. Kiyoomi doesn’t even look at him.

“It’s a habit, okay? I fucking hate you,” he furiously whispers twenty minutes later from his own bed into the darkness. Atsumu’s silent laughter still wracks the space between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao, my first try at this. from here on out, it's just dumbness.
> 
> the rest of the chapters should be up by the end of the week. hope you enjoyed! i always appreciate you and your comments <3


	3. Chapter 3

They lose to the Adlers. The mood in the _izakaya_ after is notably dejected. Meian stares down at his beer, Hinata is dancing himself to exhaustion out of pure frustration and Bokuto disappeared half an hour ago to talk to Akaashi on the phone.

“I’m so mad that ya ever had a crush on Ushijima.” Atsumu knocks back another shot.

Kiyoomi makes grabby hands. “Give me one.” He grimaces once it’s down. “Disgusting. But yes, me too. So what, he’s stoic and handsome? And his neat pocket square was incredibly alluring to teenager Sakusa? Right now, I want to sock him in the face. Repeatedly. The fifth set. A fucking service ace.”

“Ya look like ya could rip a table in half.”

“I would like to, actually.”

“Do ya want me to find ya a distraction fer tonight since yer too occupied with yer intense hatred ta look at least approachable?”

Kiyoomi takes another shot. “I’ll just go back.”

Atsumu miserably stares down at the array of empty glasses on their table and the fact that he still feels like shit. “I think I will, too.”

They both lie in their respective beds, then, and stare at the ceiling. The street right next to the hotel is too loud. A lamp is just outside their window. Some fly buzzes around the room, a constant, irritating hum. They know that the other is still awake.

Both talk at the same time. “A question.”

They didn’t intend to have sex that night, but they do.

They fuck nice and slow, Kiyoomi gasps with every drag and pull, whines at the delicious sting. Atsumu hides his face in the crook of his neck when he comes, and Kiyoomi follows. They make out for a long while after, mess on their stomachs and the bed and everywhere, but they don’t care because lying in the tangled sheets becomes the refuge of nothingness for just a few minutes. Kiyoomi’s soft breath fans over Atsumu’s collarbone while his firm hands hold him tight to his chest.

At some point, Kiyoomi shoves Atsumu off the side of the bed and grumbles an insult that Atsumu catches only half of. They change the sheets together and Atsumu flicks a finger against his temple at another snarky comment.

“Good night,” Kiyoomi murmurs from his own bed towards the warm lump of limbs in the other corner of the room, “can I kill the light?”

Atsumu has already dozed off.

///

People do ask them, on the way back.

They sit next to each other on the bus, both absorbed into their phone and book. Atsumu pops out an earbud when Hinata jumps into the row in front of them and leans onto the headrest. His smile is way too bright for this early in the morning. “So?”

“So what?”

He motions between them and especially the purple marks on both their necks. “So what’s all this?”

Their conversation has drawn attention and all of a sudden, nine pairs of eyes are trained intensely on them. Even coach peeks over. “Oh yeah,” Atsumu says and shoves Kiyoomi. He yawns. “We fucked twice now.”

“Tw– twice? _God_ , I was wondering why you didn’t complain about your room assignments last time,” Meian growls.

“If I didn’t know better, I would–“ Bokuto’s genuine smile gets replaced with an alarmed expression. “Wait. Is this another … _scheme_? For you to somehow get you into separate rooms again?”

“What? No.” Kiyoomi has perked up and brushes his mop of hair out of his face. “Things are fine. We’ll probably do it again next time?”

Atsumu turns to look at him. “Will we?” He clears his throat. “I mean, I’m down. Still don’t like you, though.”

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows. “Cool.”

Atsumu grins. “Cool.”

“Oh my god,” Adriah mutters and throws himself back into his seat.

///

Nine weeks in, Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu unprompted for the first time.

“What was that for?” he asks, touching his tingling lips with his fingertips.

Kiyoomi shrugs. “Felt like it.”

They’re the last ones in the showers because Atsumu likes to sing enthusiastically under the spray of blisteringly hot water and because Kiyoomi’s entire skin regimen would deserve his own TV segment. They’re both still damp, cheeks flushed from the steam, and Atsumu rakes a hand through his wet hair. “That was weird.”

“Should I not have done that?”

“No, ’s fine. Just weird.” He furrows his brows. “Can I try?”

Kiyoomi closes his eyes when Atsumu tilts his chin up to press a kiss to his lips. They glide comfortingly soft against his. “You smell like coconut,” Atsumu finally says and wraps a towel around his hips. “New moisturizer?”

Kiyoomi agrees that it’s weirdly fine to kiss outside of a hotel room. He takes advantage of that new knowledge and squeezes in another smooch right before they walk through the doors to the American style diner the team had chosen to eat in tonight. When Atsumu comes back from the toilet, Kiyoomi absentmindedly hands him a menu. “I ordered you a milkshake. If you get the garlic cheese burger and sweet potato fries combo, you get a second meal deal for half off. Will you take the fries off me and get onion rings for your meal so I can eat those?”

Some country song is playing over the speakers and Atsumu has started humming along to the melody very crookedly. “I don’t understand how you don’t have the worst breath known to man,” he mumbles and throws his menu on the table while taking a sip of his drunk. “But sure.”

“It’s called brushing your teeth,” Kiyoomi evenly replies. “Hello, Hinata.”

“Hi guys!” Hinata drops into the booth with them. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty nice, pretty good, little man,” Atsumu sing-songs and leans back, stretching his arms across the back rest. “How’s it feel ta score that last beautiful point?”

Hinata is glowing. “I wanna, like, jump into a really cold river and swim back out again!”

Atsumu and Kiyoomi look at him with mild concern. “Sure,” Kiyoomi settles on.

“What about you? You pulled off that nasty setter dump right at the beginning!”

Atsumu grins. “What can ya say, I’m a god.”

Kiyoomi squints. “It’s pronounced _cocky_ , when will ya learn?”

Hinata looks between them and deflates a little. “Are you already fighting again? Meian said it’s fine if we just go to dinner tonight, but did you want to go to a club? And, like…” His frantic hand motions describe everything he doesn’t want to spell out.

“Oh, I’m …” Kiyoomi’s gaze wanders towards Atsumu and he quickly snaps it back. He clears his throat. “I’m fine, actually.”

“Me too.” Atsumu finishes his milkshake with a loud slurp.

Hinata blinks. “Right.”

///

Kiyoomi wakes up to Atsumu drawing lazy circles on his back and sunlight pooling on the sheets. “Hi,” he mumbles.

“Hi,” Atsumu whispers back. “Sorry, fell asleep in yer bed yesterday. I’ll get up in a second.”

“Hm,” Kiyoomi grumbles and burrows closer. “…’m warm.”

Atsumu huffs out a laugh and melts into his tight hold. “Yeah. You’re warm.”

They almost miss the bus, which “was yer stupid fault, why do ya wanna be a koala so bad!”, but also “fuck right off, I can’t help it, you’re so snuggly and nice to lie on!”

Still, they make a habit out of waking up together from then on, and try not to forget setting an alarm. Sometimes they do forget in the haze of tongue and hands and skin, and sometimes they don’t but are still late, for reasons above.

///

Inunaki pops into their room after they announced that they wouldn’t be going out with the rest of the team after the game.

He knocks and enters a second later with his hands slapped firmly over his eyes. “Is it safe to look?”

“What the fuck? Yeah.”

The two are sitting on the bed, playing … checkers?

“The hell are you doing?”

“We’re playing checkers,” Kiyoomi says.

“I mean, I’m _seeing_ that, but … what _is this_? Tsumu, are you wearing one of Sakusa’s old t-shirts? That neon yellow is _disgusting_.”

“Yeh,” he says and sets another piece down. He flicks a finger against the plastic wrap around his head. “Omi had a little stomach ache so we wanted to stay in an’ we’re bleachin’ my hair cause we ain’t got nothin’ else to do. I went to the corner store earlier ta get some chamomile tea for Omi-kun an’ a few snacks fer _moi_ , but the TV doesn’t connect to Netflix an’ we already had sex so we thought why not, let’s touch up on my roots.”

“It’s your move, dumbass.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, turns to the board again and shifts a random piece. “ _Anyways_ , there’s still a few minutes left until we hafta take it out so we’re just passin’ the time. Would’ve done chess but that takes too long.”

Kiyoomi is sitting there cross-legged on the bed, his gaze is trained intensely on the game. “No it doesn’t, I destroy you each and every time with about ten moves. And there you go, I get another king. Hand one over, bitch.”

“So rooming seems to be going great for you two, huh?” Inunaki looks around the room, his eyes linger at the other bed in the corner onto which two suitcases are piled, one impeccably neat and organized as if ironed whole, the other presenting the familiar sprawled-out disaster that everyone has come to expect from Atsumu. He points to the bed and the lack of sleeping space on it. “Are you going to move that?”

“Huh? No. Omi-Omi’s bed is big enough for the two of us. Anyways, what did’ya want?”

“Oh, the team was just wanting to … check … on you…” He scratches his head. “I mean, I … is there…”

“Yes, words are hard,” Kiyoomi says and brutally murders another one of Atsumu’s pieces. He clasps his hands over his mouth and gasps in mock hurt.

“Um. This might sound weird, but. Is … _this_ ,” he waves in the air, “kind of a, um … a relationship scenario … that’s happening?”

Kiyoomi sighs. “Words, Inunaki, and other words that connect them. Please. Specify.”

“Are you two … like, together now?”

Said two look at each other before they burst out laughing.

“Good one, Wan-san,” Atsumu gets out between two fits of violent laughter. He holds onto Kiyoomi’s shoulder in order not to fall off the bed. “Real good one. Did the team send ya? Ta, like, prank us?”

“No, I was genuinely…”

“It’s honestly insulting that you think that,” Kiyoomi says and holds out a palm, Atsumu disgruntledly drops another piece into it. He’s still snickering. “It’s Miya. And me. We’re fucking, what else should there be going on?”

“ _Fucking_ … which you’ve done for what, three months now?”

“Four, actually. It’s really fun.”

“I didn’t need to–“ He sighs. Deeply. “You’re not together.”

“Obviously not,” Kiyoomi says, unfazed, and sets down his final piece. He sweeps Atsumu’s last stone off the board. “I won.” He clicks his tongue and leans forward. “You know what that means, come on.”

Atsumu huffs angrily and pouts, but darts forward: He presses a smooch right onto Kiyoomi’s forehead, quickly followed by a peck on each of his moles. Kiyoomi leans back, a satisfied smile etched onto his face. “Heh.”

Inunaki blinks. “Okay. Not together. But you haven’t slept with other people ever since,” he says and pauses. “Have you?”

“No.” Kiyoomi furrows his brows. “Why would I need to when I have Atsumu?” His frown deepens. “And why are you looking at us like that?”

“So you’re saying you get on well, you fuck and you’re also exclusive about it.”

“Yeah, but we’re not, like, in love. It’s just convenient havin’ a person around that ye’re familiar with, ya know, that ya can actually talk to and laugh with. And we also get to have sex and stuff.”

Inunaki turns around and leaves.

“Hey! What the fuck!” they call after him in unison.

“I hope this is a joke, because if it isn’t, you’re the most stupid pair of motherfuckers I’ve ever met in my life. It would actually be funny if it wasn’t so sad,” he says over his shoulder before he slams the door shut.

Atsumu opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the alarm on his phone goes off.

“Oh, time’s up,” Kiyoomi says. “Come on, you big baby.”

He wrangles a chair into the bathroom and sets it down in front of the sink, nudging Atsumu onto it and instructing him to lean backwards.

“What the fuck was that about?” Atsumu asks as Kiyoomi carefully arranges a towel on the countertop and lowers his head onto it so he doesn’t get a crick in his neck.

“Hell if I know,” Kiyoomi responds while he starts rinsing out his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

“As if I’d fall in love with ya,” Atsumu huffs and promptly sighs contentedly when Kiyoomi works in the conditioner and untangles any knots with careful fingers.

“Yeah right!”

They laugh about the ridiculousness of it all before having a fight over the bleach stains on Kiyoomi’s t-shirt because “I’m sorry, I didn’t think before putting it on, I know it’s one of yer favorites, ya sleep in it all the time,” but also, “it doesn’t fucking matter, it’s old, and ruined anyways because you wore it, so just keep it or whatever”.

Atsumu chuckles to himself again when he’s neatly wrapped in Kiyoomi’s arms later that night.

“What?” Kiyoomi mutters, already on the brink of sleep. He pulls him tighter to his chest and slots a leg between his so he can snuggle closer.

Atsumu tucks his chin into the crook of his neck. “Samu was goin’ on about somethin’ similar the other day. ’s just really funny to me how they keep thinkin’ that I’m gonna fall in love with you. Or you with me. Don’t they know that we’d both be very hard to love?”

“They must not,” Kiyoomi mumbles and presses a quiet kiss to his hair that still smells a little bit of ammonia. “Now go to sleep, I’ll kill myself if I have to deal with you cranky on the whole bus ride home.” He feels Atsumu smile against his skin. “You little rascal,” he whispers.

///

The season ends in April.

They sit in the izakaya after the last set, pleasantly buzzed from the game and championship they won and the empty beer bottles in front of them. They’re nursing another as they’re sitting in the booth next to each other, eyes lazily wandering over the thrum of people, searching for something they haven’t wanted in a while.

It’s not just the season that comes to an end, but this unspoken agreement between them, the fact that they’ve only ever hooked up in hotel rooms when they were away for games, that it’s always been the taking of an offer that was right in front of them and not a conscious seeking out, that it started with the season and will probably end with it.

Neither of them know if this will continue.

Atsumu sighs. Finishes the rest of his beer. Moves his thigh. The length of it presses hot against Kiyoomi’s. “Wanna fuck?”

Kiyoomi looks down at him, dark eyes half shrouded by the dim lights. “Your place or mine?”

They continue to sleep with each other as May bleeds into June and as June shifts into July.

The first time they do it within their own homes, there’s an eeriness to it, the awkwardness of asking if the other wants a cup of tea, a weirdness that they quickly dispel by tearing each other’s clothes off. By the second time, Atsumu has the tea already prepared. He quickly learns that he doesn’t have to bother showering before coming to Kiyoomi’s apartment because he’ll make him take another one anyways, and he also learns not to trudge through the muddy parts in the park on the way because Kiyoomi _will_ be grumbly all night and make him clean the floor before taking off even one single article of clothing.

“It’s very convenient,” Atsumu appraises when he’s talking to Osamu, “he’s just there an’ I can call ‘im up, getting’ rid of all the extra complications,” and Kiyoomi gloats proudly at his genius idea that instead of hooking up with different people every week he can just do it with the same person! “But you’re not in a relationship?” Osamu and Komori each ask them. Atsumu pauses while forming rice into familiar triangles, Kiyoomi dabs at his mouth with a napkin, and they both answer “of course not, who do you think we are?”

They find out that they like morning sex, both immediately after waking up in the same bed and also when Atsumu comes over and brings breakfast and an adequate amount of horniness with him. This habit devolves into shared morning runs, because they have to keep fit anyways and Atsumu will seize any opportunity to talk more. The company is nice, Kiyoomi once admits after they’ve come back from a make-out session behind a tree.

At some point, a second toothbrush finds its way into Kiyoomi’s bathroom cabinet. It’s a green one with a silly little frog at the end of the handle, clearly meant for kids, and Kiyoomi gave it to Atsumu cackling. In return, Atsumu gets a pink electric one for his place with each replaceable head displaying the crooked face of a different Disney princess. Kiyoomi doesn’t give him the satisfaction of being bothered, he instead pops Elsa on and brushes his teeth so thoroughly that Atsumu is complaining loudly by the time he finally joins him in bed.

Kiyoomi learns that Atsumu is too tired after watching a movie to ask for anything other than lazy kisses that he falls asleep in the middle of, that Atsumu enjoys baking, for some reason, likes feeding the result to Kiyoomi and making him cheat on their diet, and Kiyoomi learns that he runs cold after exercise and _will_ exercise his right to ask for copious cuddles.

The team stops hollering whenever one of the two pulls the other behind a corner and five minutes later they emerge with suspiciously mussed hair, and they barely look up anymore when Kiyoomi presses a tired kiss to Atsumu’s hair in the locker room after pratice.

A spontaneous smooch, flirty comment or the occasional ass grab are now just met with a collective synchronous eye roll.

///

Atsumu lies on the bed completely limp, eyes closed, every single part of body sprawled out across the mattress into a different direction. “Why’s it so hot, I’m _dying_.” He lifts a listless hand. “Don’t say ‘please do’, I’m beggin’ ya, don’t say it, I know it’s comin’, but just don’t say it.”

Kiyoomi is fanning air to himself, sitting by the window completely naked. “Fucking climate change. I want to guillotine every single oil company executive, then cut off their testicles and feed them to their dogs. Or should they be alive for the testicle-cutting?” Sweat is glistening on his chest.

“Bit extreme.” Atsumu lets out a high whine. “I think this is no one’s fault, just the absolute bitch that’s Osaka in August.”

They had tried to have sex, _tried it_ , and utterly failed.

“Why are ya glued to me,” Atsumu hissed while trying to wriggle out from underneath him.

Kiyoomi didn’t listen to him, he was too distracted trying to figure out where to put all of his limbs because everywhere was equally hot and humid and horrible. “What _me_ , it’s _you_ , your hands are too sweaty and sticky!” They finally detached from each other with an obscene squelching sound that made them cringe themselves into oblivion. Then, Kiyoomi tried to give Atsumu a blowjob.

“God, get _off_ me, it’s too hot, I’m _melting_ , and not in the good way.”

Atsumu suggested shower sex, but “that’s first of all complicated and uncomfortable, very much overrated, and second, I think every ounce of fluid in my body will evaporate this instant if I have an orgasm right now.”

So now they’re here, five feet apart from each other, miserably succumbing into two separate sweaty puddles. Kiyoomi proposes going outside. “There’s usually a breeze at the bay. Right? Also, I wanted to check out that new vegan ice cream shop Komori was raving about.”

So they do, Atsumu gets vanilla and strawberry, and Kiyoomi mint chocolate chip – Atsumu whines until he gets a taste of it, of course. He pulls back from the cone, tongue darting out to save the stray piece of chocolate from escaping down his chin, and after a second of deliberation, he pulls a face. “I really don’t get it. It’s toothpaste, it’s fuckin’ toothpaste, and ya slapped some sugar on it.”

“What is it with me and wanting to throw you over railings? Because I want to do that, and watch you float away into the ocean with the smell of vanilla trailing after you. It’s literally _vanilla_ , how much more bland and boring can you get? Mint chocolate chip is exciting, it’s fresh in your mouth, a contrast that makes you–”

“Alright, ye’re not writin’ an ad. Your toothpaste’s melting. God, is it bad that I want to bite it just to give myself brain freeze?”

The little bit of wind cools their foreheads and makes them sigh in relief. It brings in the salty taste of ocean and fried goods.

They can observe the day slowly coming to an end, the sun dipping lower on the horizon and the unbearable scorching heat turning down to a pleasant simmer.

Other people are milling about, enjoying a walk or sitting on the patch of grass next to the promenade talking and laughing, soaking up the last rays of mellow sunshine. There’s a whole row of couples exchanging kisses and sauntering obnoxiously with fingers tangled together. Some kids are playing ball, yelling and giggling, and a small smile forms on Atsumu’s face as he looks at them. _That used to be me._ Kiyoomi lends a hand to a nice older lady getting up from a bench, and at her following gushing over what a nice young man he is, and so _handsome_ , his cheeks go pink. She releases her firm hold on his arm with a wink when Atsumu jogs up to them and hobbles away with her grocery bags swaying.

Atsumu snorts when he has to side-step yet _another_ happy couple in order to get to Kiyoomi. “Imagine bein’ in love. Cringe.” He stretches his arms out and Kiyoomi meets him halfway, wraps his arms around his waist and lays his head on his shoulder, hair tickling his nose. “Why are you hugging me?”

“Oh I was just wantin’ ta– an amusement park!” Atsumu whirls around with a giant smile and Kiyoomi almost whines at the loss of contact. He throws his arm out to point towards the blinking lights in the near distance that are illuminating the ending day. “Wanna go to the amusement park? It’s been so long fer me!”

Kiyoomi huffs a laugh, but internally, he’s already admitting defeat. “You’re a literal kid. There’ll be a lot of people there, and probably a staggering lack of proper hygiene.”

“And overpriced beer! Amazing! C’mon, I brought masks with, and I’m carryin’ wipes all the time now anyways. Feel like a woman with my silly little purse, but instead of perfume an’ mascara it’s hand sanitizer fer Omi-kun.” He chuckles. “It’ll be fun!”

It is not fun, very much not fun, Atsumu later admits when he staggers out of a rollercoaster, face a similar shade to the ice cream he had tasted and slandered a few hours ago. Kiyoomi trails behind him, very sure in his step, and accepts Atsumu’s bag from the person behind the counter, only the hint of a smug smile disturbing the even nonchalance on his face. “Let’s go on that bigger one with the swirling cages next?”

“Nope!” His voice is wobbly. “We could … shoot some cans. That’s what we could do. I’ll win ya a stupid toy.” He waggles his fingers. “Those must be good for somethin’, ain’t they?”

“Atsumu, your hands are still shaking.”

Kiyoomi watches him while he plays. His tongue is peeking out because why would it not, and on his face there is that look of pure concentration that’s usually reserved for the court. It’s trained intensely on those dented cola cans, much too serious for the stakes. Atsumu’s weighing the small plastic ball in his hands, eyes flicking to the overhead speakers for a moment that are blaring tinny upbeat music; Kiyoomi can make out the pew-pew noises of arcade machines and exaggerated sound bites of video game narrators in the background. A chilly breeze makes its way through the bright-colored stands and Kiyoomi shivers for the fraction of a second. Atsumu notices. He shrugs his jacket off and pushes it into his hands before turning back to the game. Kiyoomi burrows himself into the fabric, inhales the soft scent of lemon cough drops and fabric softener. Atsumu bites his lip, takes aim, his stance a beautiful arc.

The blinking neon lights draw shadows onto his face, illuminate his hair in red and purple, douse his cheekbones blue. He turns slightly, his face catches the strobing lights. Those eyes are in their darkness piercing. He looks ethereal.

He winks at Kiyoomi and sticks his tongue out before he throws the ball.

It’s Atsumu’s turn to watch Kiyoomi on the train ride back, the stuffed animal he won him clutched in lanky, pale fingers. In the end, it didn’t suffice for the dinosaur because “ya threw me off, ya did somethin’ weird with yer freaky wrists, and ya threw me off, so it’s yer own fault that ya only got an ugly fox.”

And the fox really is hideous; it’s more yellow than orange, one of his eyes pops out a bit, and the tail is too short and scratchy – but Kiyoomi holds it tightly, fast asleep as he is.

His hair fans out over the window, and his mouth hangs open a little; a tiny string of drool has escaped. His body moves with the dull rattling of the train, sways when it halts and departs. The mantle of the evening has cooled the city down, and Atsumu draped his jacket over his shoulders. Kiyoomi looks impossibly fragile like this, drowning in a too big jacket and clutching a cheap stuffed toy to his chest with both hands, eyes fluttering beneath closed eyelids.

Atsumu nudges his shoulder when it’s their stop, and Kiyoomi comes to slowly. “Tsumu?” he mumbles, still half-lost to the haze of sleep.

“C’mon,” Atsumu whispers back, “what are ya doin’? There’s a perfectly comfortable bed waitin’ for us back home.”

Atsumu wrangles him out of the cart and onto the sidewalk, streetlights casting long wandering shadows behind them. He clumsily opens the front door with one hand because his other arm is wrapped around Kiyoomi’s shoulders, the man barely standing upright at this point.

Atsumu helps him undress because Kiyoomi’s own fingers are too slow, he puts him under the low spray of the shower and massages shampoo into his curls. The note of eucalyptus spreads in the small space, familiar and comfortable.

Kiyoomi’s lids are continuously falling shut while Atsumu brushes his teeth. He leans heavy and warm on his shoulder and a bit of toothpaste dribbles out of his mouth and onto Atsumu’s sleeping shirt, neon yellow with faint stains of bleach. Atsumu strokes Kiyoomi’s dark hair out of his forehead and presses two soft kisses to his moles.

Kiyoomi is still holding the fox when he finally falls into bed.

**Author's Note:**

> hello there. thank you for visiting this sleep paralysis demon of mine that I obsessively scribbled down over the course of a week with britney spears playing in the background. I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I loved writing it! <33
> 
> come scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/e1dilechsi) i'm lonely


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